


Good Night

by monicawoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hell, Nightmares, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May flights of angels...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night

"Having trouble sleeping, Sammy?" Dean grumbled, face half muffled by his pillow.

"No, I'm deep asleep." Sam answered, still staring up at the ceiling.

"Want a night-cap?"

"No."

"Painkillers?"

"No."

"Lullaby?"

"Go back to sleep Dean, I'm fine." Sam looked over at Dean and watched him shift and turn until he was facing the door. A few minutes later, Dean's breathing evened out and he was back asleep.

 _When I was soulless, I didn't need to sleep_ Sam thought. He was envious of that ability now. Sleep hadn't been safe for most of his adult life. When his dreams started - dreams of fire and death- sleeping lost the appeal it used to hold when he was a child. 

He hadn't slept the whole year he was soulless, so when he was made whole again he slept the sleep of exhaustion. His body welcomed the rest and his mind didn't have the energy to dream.

But now...things were getting worse. They were always worse at night. Sam was afraid to fall asleep, but he was afraid to stay awake too. At night, his mind wandered...and he'd remember things _awful_ things, but he didn't know if they were real or if they were from that odd space between waking and sleep.

Some nights he'd remember killing something, vividly. Those memories were likely real. Sometimes he'd remember faces - usually the faces were filled with fear or covered in blood, or both. Those were the good nights. He could forget the next morning.

On the bad nights, like tonight, he'd hear a voice. The voice was ancient, and angry, and so familiar it made Sam want to scream. 

Sam tried everything to make the voice stop. He tried playing back songs in his head. He tried reciting the alphabet backwards in ancient Greek, in Aramaic, in Enochian. He tried, he did, but he could't block out the voice, he couldn't block out the words.

 _Come home, Sam._

 _I miss you._

 _"No."_ Sam muttered under his breath, clenching his hands into fists until he felt his nails digging into flesh. The pain helped sometimes, but not tonight. _"No."_

 _It doesn't matter that you're up there, and I'm down here. I can always reach you, Sam. Always. And I will never, never forget. You may have trapped me here, but you're trapped too. You can't escape me. Ever._

On these nights, the worst nights, the worst thing was sleep. If Sam did give in, if he couldn't fight the exhaustion anymore, he would dream of falling. He'd fall through earth and fire and land in the arms of an archangel. 

 _Sam, I missed you. I missed you so much. I've been so lonely._

Sam shuddered in his sleep. In his mind, he answered _"What about Michael ?"_

 _Michael's no fun. He doesn't understand me. Not the way you do._

Sam didn't have anything to say to that. He had denied it the first few times he'd had this dream, but tonight he was just too tired, too resigned, to argue any further.

 _Come on, Sam. You remember, don't you? All the fun we used to have? Let's have some fun again._

Sam doesn't fight, not this time, as Lucifer reclaims his vessel, as Lucifer fills every cell of him with his terrible, furious Light. Sam feels the confines of the Cage, and he feels Lucifer's rage as his own, and he screams and he screams.

On the worst nights, Sam dreams.


End file.
